


The Talking Cure

by get_blasted



Category: To the Moon Series (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/get_blasted/pseuds/get_blasted
Summary: Contrary to his tendency to slack, Neil doesn’t call in sick for no reason. Eva decides to check on him.
Relationships: Eva Rosalene & Neil Watts
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Talking Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my files from 2019. Enjoy!

“Neil?” 

Light flooded the bedroom with a flick of Eva’s finger, and then came the subsequent hiss of a bedridden Neil. 

“Turn that off!” he screeched. She obliged, plunging the room back into its original darkness, if only so she couldn’t see him in his current state. Not that she could, even if all the lights in the world were on - he was buried under what must have been all of the blankets in his house. 

Regardless, under all of them, she was sure he wasn’t a pretty sight. Not that he ever was.

He had called in sick today - actually sick, according to their manager. Despite his tendency to slack, he rarely called in sick, and Eva had made the decision to check in on him when her shift was over.

Damn Traci. Eva thought she was worming into her brain a lot more lately.

“Enough faking, Neil,” she said, her weight making a dip in the bed as she sat. He noticed, a groan coming from the blankets that shifted as he curled in on himself. “You’ve spent too long cocooned in here.”

“And you’ve spent too much time around Lisa,” he retorted, though it was hard to feel any sort of scathed by his words. They came out scratchy, voice rough from lack of use. “Why are you here, anyway? Come to get a sample of whatever virus I got?”

Eva shook her head. “If I wanted to discover a new super-virus, I’d send your socks to the lab.”

Neil forced out another cough. “Nice, Eva. Bullying a dying man,” he muttered, feigning offense at the jab. 

"I don't bully dying people," Eva replied, careful to keep her tone neutral, "I bully fakers."

“Hey!” Neil’s tone was indignant as he rose up out of his cocoon, bringing himself up on his elbow. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a faker. Here, wanna feel my head? I’ve got a fever!”

Eva craned her head back to roll her eyes at the lump of blankets staring at her. "When has the answer to that question ever been yes, Neil?"

He limply fell back onto the bed, defeated. “Fine. Be wrong.” 

He turned over, sheets rustling under him. “Still don’t know why you’re here,” he murmured, and, if Eva’s ears didn’t deceive her, there was a hint of frustration in his voice at not knowing. The ghost of a smile played at her lips - one he wouldn’t see, as he was facing the wall. 

“Take a guess.”

“I hate guessing games,” he grumbled. Then, after a pause: “Traci made you.”

Good guess, but - “No,” she said. “Try again.”

“You wanted to suffocate me with a pillow?”

Eva gave a non-committal hum. “Close.”

Neil gasped. “Dr. Lin wanted you to strangle me!?” He sounded genuinely alarmed. Eva pinched the bridge of her nose.

“That’s not what I… never mind.” She sighed. “I came because I wanted to.”

Neil - miraculously - remained silent, giving Eva ample time to continue. “I know you don’t call in sick for no reason, so I wanted to… y’know” — She waved her hand — “check in.”

Awkward, but not as bad as it could have been. Eva smoothed down the wrinkles of her coat, playing off her concern as common courtesy. “I know you would do the same for me, so.”

Neil sniffled, and, for once, Eva wasn’t sure if it was theatre. “That’s so sweet. That you think I would do the same for you. I mean, I would. Totally…”

Eva guessed Neil wasn’t sick enough not to be himself. Reassuring. “Neil,” she said, her voice a careful warning, “I don’t want to punch a sick man.”

Neil hummed. “So you admit I’m sick? Curious.”

“Almost like I was joking when I said you weren’t.”

“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”

“Then you’ve never made a joke.”

Neil wheezed. “Ouch… Too far, Eva.”

There was a pause. 

“So,” she spoke up, breaking a long silence. “How are you feeling?”

Neil held the silence for a while longer. “Bad,” he decided. “But, um. Better since you’ve been here.” Another pause as he realized what he said. “I mean—“

“I guess Freud was right.”

“What?” His reply was vexed and immediate. Admittedly, it was a very weird thing to hear when he wasn’t privy to the thoughts in her head that had led up to it. 

“Freud theorized that the symptomatic manifestations of illness got better when patients talked about them,” she explained. “He called it the talking cure.” 

Neil snorted - an action that normally would have gone woefully unpunished, that this time ended with a coughing fit. “Freud was a hack,” he managed. 

“He pioneered the psychological science.”

He remained motionless under the blankets, still recovering from the strain of his cough. Growing tired, she guessed. She supposed it did make sense for him to feel pretty drained. “Eva’s checking on me and now she’s a Freudian,” he said. “I must be sicker than I thought.” 

“Can it. You’re worrying your throat,” she said, only slightly scolding. 

“…You’re only saying that to shut me up.”

“Maybe. Go to sleep.”

“Mm… And let you rob me…? Don’t think so.”

“You have enough plastic bags for the both of us. Don’t be greedy, Neil.”

Eva heard a small laugh in reply. Shortly after, Neil’s slow breaths merged into soft snores as he dozed off, finding what little relief from his sickness he could in his dreams. 

After she was sure he was gone, Eva slipped out, leaving no proof she been more than a Nyquil-addled delusion in Neil’s foggy memory.


End file.
